Y'ou a're b'eaut'iful, my H'ar'ry
by OccAmy Phyre
Summary: The Final Battle came and went, leaving an astronomical number of casualties, Harry included. He began falling into a deep depression when a fiery young man and melodious songs began to fill his dreams and haunt his waking thoughts.


**Summary:** The Final Battle came and went leaving an astronomical number of casualties, Harry included. He began falling into a deep depression when a fiery young man and melodious songs began to fill his dreams and haunt his waking thoughts. Harry/Fawkes

**A/N:** I have read very few stories with this pairing, but I have found every one of them to be incredibly sweet so I decided to attempt one myself. I wrote this as a happy/fluffy (with a splash of angst) break from Heir as a couple readers suggested. I certainly liked it, although writing fluff is apparently more difficult for me than writing dark angst. Enjoy!

* * *

**Casualties of war aren't always the names on a memorial, or the etchings on a gravestone. Many of them walk among us. -Unknown**

* * *

It had been a long summer for Harry. He had spent most of the time in St. Mungo's going through intensive physical therapy, throwing himself into his exercises to avoiding thinking about all of the deaths at the beginning of the summer.

After several bloody months of fighting against the Death Eaters everything came to a head on the last day of school. A contingent of aurors and Order members as well as all the professors had been riding on the Hogwarts Express for protection when it was attacked. It didn't matter though since nearly all of the aurors had been slaughtered while the professors herded the students to safety.

Out of a little more than 300 students, 80 had been killed by the Death Eaters. Most of them had been sixth and seventh years fighting to protect the younger students. Both Gryffindor and Hufflepuff had been decimated having jumped to the fore, showing just how courageous and loyal their houses could be. About half of the Ravenclaws had stayed, the other half fleeing after deciding that the odds were against them.

What was surprising was the Slytherins. Apparently Draco Malfoy had decided that he didn't want to follow in his father's sniveling footsteps and most of the house followed their Prince's lead. Their methods were questionable, but in the end the Ministry decided that they weren't going to prosecute them for using the Dark Arts since they were so effective against the Death Eaters. Despite suspecting that the Slytherins had ulterior motives for joining the combat, Harry had been grateful for their help.

After fighting for an indeterminable amount of time Harry's scar split open and distracted him enough that he hadn't been quick enough to dodge a cutting curse sent at his arm. It caught him in the arm but he hardly felt it due to the piercing pain spearing through his head. He heard some shouting behind him and turned just in time to see Voldemort cast the killing curse at Dumbledore. He old man hadn't been fast enough to dodge the spell and had died before he even hit the ground.

Harry didn't remember what happened next, but Hermione told him that he had flown into a rage and attacked Voldemort. After a short duel Harry cast a spell that no one recognised, not even Harry, and Voldemort collapsed into ashes. All of the Death Eaters shared the same fate, having been linked to their master through their dark marks. It was rather anti-climatic, but no one cared due to the sheer number of people that had died that day.

Nearly all of the Hufflepuffs from fifth year up had been killed. There was no faulting their loyalty but sadly they didn't have the training to back it up. There was also the fact that many of them died throwing themselves in front of curses meant for other people. The Ravenclaws had faired a bit better, but about two-thirds of the Ravens that had stayed died. They knew many spells but didn't really know how to use them in a combat situation. The 7th year Gryffindors had been decimated, Katie Bell and Cormac McLaggen being the only survivors. Out of the four houses the Slytherins had fared the best. They had been trained from birth to serve their Lord and had too strong of a drive for self preservation that they didn't sacrifice themselves.

Out of the sixth year Gryffindors only Harry, Ron, Neville, Hermione and Lavender were left. Lavender had run at the first sight of the Death Eaters, apparating out before any of the shields had been erected, and Harry tried not to be bitter towards her. He could understand the sense of self-preservation but she had left the rest of them to a grisly fate. In his opinion she did not belong in Gryffindor. Neville had lost his vision while dueling Bellatrix Lestrange but had avenged his parents all the same. Ron had lost most of his right leg killing Dolohov and Hermione was still at St. Mungo's undergoing treatment for some rare dark curse that Harry couldn't even pronounce. The mediwizards said both of them would be released by Christmas but he knew neither of them would ever be the same.

Harry hadn't walked away from the battle unscathed. Apparently the cutting curse he had taken before defeating Voldemort was more serious than he had originally believed. It had hit an artery and he lost a lot of blood before anyone had noticed. The others knew that the mediwizards wouldn't get there in time so Hermione coached Ron through a cauterizing spell she had learned from Merlin knows where. Something had gone wrong though and the cauterization did not stop at the injury. Before the mediwizards were able to stop it, the spell had encompassed Harry's entire arm and part of his torso. He was left with what the Muggles called a severe fourth degree burn, losing all of his skin and damaging a good part of his muscles.

While the injury was caused by a spell, the result was not magical in the least. Unfortunately, the mediwizards were far more familiar with typical spell damage than 'Muggle ailments', so they did not know how to deal with Harry's injury. While their magic had preserved his life and kept his arm from amputation, he was left with severe scarring as well as muscle loss, severely limiting the use of his arm. One innovative mediwizard had decided to approach a Muggle injury with Muggle methods and had developed a strict exercise regiment to mimic Muggle physical therapy. While Harry would never regain full use of his arm, at least he could use it again.

A week before school started he was finally released under strict instructions to continue his exercises. He had spent that time holed up in Number 12 Grimmauld Place, sending Dobby off to get all of his school supplies. He threw himself into cleaning up the house in memory of Sirius. While his Godfather would have probably wanted tear the place down, Harry couldn't bring himself to destroy the last link he had to the man. He was able to finish the first floor before having to leave for King's Cross.

And this is where Harry found himself, on the train heading for Hogwarts and his last year of school with nothing to distract him from his morbid thoughts.

All of the deaths hit Harry hard. No matter how much the living told him otherwise he couldn't help but feel guilt for the dead. Maybe if he hadn't been on the train it wouldn't have been a target. Maybe if he had done something sooner all those people wouldn't have died...

He was broken out of his thoughts by the train whistle blowing indicating that they were pulling into Hogsmeade station. He got up and put on his robes lethargically before making his way to the thestral drawn carriages. He looked at the decaying beasts and snorted.

'I bet all the students can see them now,' he thought darkly. He glanced around the platform and smirked at all of the horrified stares focused on the creatures. 'Indeed...'

After an uneventful ride to the castle Harry stepped into the Great Hall. While the tables were smaller and made the Great Hall look larger and more empty than normal, it was like nothing had changed. The tables were filled with boisterous students, having recovered their spirits after being shocked by the thestrals.

Harry couldn't help but sneer at the tableau. Did the deaths of the students and the Headmaster mean nothing to them? How could they forget so easily? A small voice in the back of Harry's head said that they were enjoying their life after their brush with death but he ruthlessly suppressed it. They had no right to be happy when so many had died.

He spent the evening in silence, ignoring both Headmistress McGonnagal's announcements as well as all the concerned and confused looks sent his way.

* * *

Hallowe'en night found Harry sitting in the astronomy tower looking across the grounds deep in thought.

He had spent the last several months in a haze, ignoring all the concerned looks the professors sent his way. Neville was the only one who would approach him besides the professors. He spent every meal coaxing Harry into eating and dragging him to their classes. The blind boy was probably the only reason Harry got up in the morning.

He avoided the other students, originally because he couldn't stop seeing the faces of the dead overlapping those of the living. Everything reminded him of those that died. But now, he couldn't stand to see how happy all of them were.

He noticed that nearly everyone third year and up seemed to have paired off. Even some Slytherins walked around with sappy looks on their faces. This had been happening throughout the wizarding world. the pregnancy rate higher than it had been the first time Voldemort was defeated.

'They're all so happy,' Harry thought sadly. 'They are enjoying their lives despite all the death. They are living...'

He looked down and ran his fingers down his arm, feeling the bumps and ridges that formed his skin. He tried to flex his hand and was only half successful. Despite all of the therapy there were still some things he couldn't do. He could use the arm itself, but many of the nerves that controlled the fine motor movements of his fingers had been incinerated. Add to the fact that some of the scar tissue impeded his joints, well, he didn't have too much use of that hand.

Harry felt dead inside. Not only was he a murderer, but he was responsible for the deaths of nearly a hundred people including aurors, students, professors and Order members. Between that and his deformity, he knew he would always be alone. How could anyone want to be saddled with an emotionally screwed up and physically deformed mate, much less a killer?

He stood and stepped onto the thin balcony trailing his fingers along the flimsy bars preventing people from falling. He ducked under a couple telescopes that had been left out there from the last class and crossed over to the end peering over the edge at the ground below. He had never seen how far up the tower really was. He leaned a bit further wondering what it would be like to fly without a broom. He closed his eyes to imagine it, almost feeling the wind whipping through his hair and his stomach leaping into his chest from the free fall. He leaned out a bit further, barely keeping hold of the railing with his good hand. If he just relaxed his hand a bit, then he could fly. He could be free. It would all be over; the pain would be gone. He would join the dead like he should have that day in June.

He had nearly convinced himself to let go when a song pierced through his thoughts. It was beautiful. He could feel the hope overlaying the loss and mourning. For the first time in quite a while he could feel something besides sorrow stirring in his soul.

He shook his head and pulled away from the railing, wondering where the sound had come from. After spending several moments looking for it, he determined that it must have been his imagination. He yawned and decided that he should go to bed before anyone noticed his absence. The few Gryffindors left had gotten very protective of him.

That night Harry's dreams were filled with flashes of red and orange accompanied by the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

* * *

Over the next several weeks Harry felt his spirits beginning to lift. He woke up every morning with a feeling of contentment, feeling like he wasn't quite alone. The song still haunted his dreams and he was beginning to hear snatches of it when he was by himself wandering through the halls or sitting by the lake.

Recently his dreams started to have more than flashes of colours. The song was still there but with it were bits of skin. He couldn't keep himself from running his fingers across the soft flesh and feel the other person's fingers run over his in turn. The fingertips would trace down his neck, to his shoulder and deformed arm. Instead of shying away from them, the person caressed the scars reverently, making Harry feel a little less ugly and a little more desirable. He began looking forward to sleeping every night.

It was obvious that the other Gryffindors were relieved that his mood seemed to be picking up. He could still see their looks of concern when they didn't think he was looking, but they joked around with him more often. Harry could tell that Neville was still concerned. He still encouraged him to eat and Harry was beginning to put on some more weight, but he still couldn't fix the bouts of sadness that Harry would fall into. While the memory of the song would buoy his mood, it couldn't permanently stave off his depression.

One morning was particularly bad. Instead of the soft sweet dreams that he had grown accustomed to, they had been filled with death and flashbacks from the attack. Neville was encouraging him to eat but he couldn't do anything but play with his food. He tried to eat but everything tasted like ash.

He fell further and further into his depression until he heard the sweet song start. He jerked his head up and looked around for the source. He had never heard it in the company of others before. Looking around he could see that he wasn't the only one that heard it. He was grateful that he at least wasn't hallucinating.

The song grew louder and louder, filling the Hall and bringing a smile to everyone's face, before it reached a fevered pitch. One deep note reverberated through Harry, reaching the depths of his being, before a bright light flashed in front of him. He jerked back and widened his eyes at the sight of Fawkes sitting in front of his plate. The phoenix hadn't been seen since Dumbledore's death and there had been many theories as to where he went, the most popular being that he died with the ancient man.

The entire Hall was silent as Fawkes stopped singing and cocked his head at the bespectacled boy. Everyone held their breath as the phoenix chirped, jumped up onto Harry's shoulder and began nuzzling his face with his head. Harry stared at the creature, unsure of what to do. He looked around, startled by the sheer number of eyes staring at him and decided that he wanted out of there. Now. He stood and practically fled the Hall. As soon as the doors banged shut behind him the entire Hall exploded in noise.

* * *

Harry hurried to the lake, unwilling to run with the bird perched on his shoulder. He plopped down next to his favourite tree, leaning back against the trunk. The phoenix chirped and jumped down in his shoulder to sit in his lap.

Harry looked down at the creature, bewildered. "What are you doing here Fawkes?"

The bird stared at him for a moment, seeming to contemplate something, before breaking out into song. The song resonated with contentment and peace before abruptly changing. A phoenix's song is said to bring happiness and light to those who hear it, but whomever had claimed that had obviously never heard this. The tones were discordant, a few almost painful to his ears, and the warbles ran up and down the scale. Harry felt anger and fear rip through him as they brought up flashes of memory. He saw student after student fall, each death worse than the last as the song reached its crescendo with a flash of green and the image of white hair and beard splayed out on the ground. All of the pain and anger he felt during the battle came back to him and he nearly flew into another rage before the phoenix's song changed, calming him down until he felt only sadness. Fawkes paused, seeming to check to see if Harry was okay before continuing his song.

Harry felt the sadness creep up through him, the deep notes resonating in his heart, before the song abruptly changed again. The notes evoked feelings of outright fear, the likes of which he hadn't felt since he saw his godfather fall into the Veil. Harry barely felt his own feelings of confusion underneath the absolute dread that radiated off of the beautiful bird. There was a brief moment of relief in the notes of the phoenix's before the fear slammed back into him. It felt like an eternity before it subsided, replaced by relief and sorrow. The song finally petered off, notes of melancholy and happiness intertwining in a way Harry had previously thought impossible.

It was several minutes before Harry was able to shake off the lingering emotions evoked from the impromptu serenade. He felt the weight on his lap and looked back down at the fire bird, unsure of what to feel or say. He could still see the sorrow mixed with contentment in the bird's eyes. They stayed like that for several minutes before the phoenix let out a series of chirps and trills. Harry felt the ghosting sensation of warm arms wrapping him up in a hug that felt strangely familiar. He couldn't stop the tears from breaking through at the sensation, that of comfort and security that nobody had been able to give him despite their attempts.

For the first time since the attack, Harry cried.

* * *

Harry woke up the next morning feeling strangely light. His dreams had been filled with flashes of red hair and golden skin. The locks had been a fiery red, unlike the strawberry and orange colour of the Weasleys'. Harry could not remember anyone he had met who had such hair.

He shook it off and made his way to the shower, smiling in a way he hadn't in a long time.

"Good morning!" Harry said, sitting next to Neville in the Great Hall. He grabbed several strips of bacon and a slice of melon and began to demolish it before he noticed the others staring at him. "What?"

"You seem rather... cheerful this morning Harry," Neville said, staring at him with sightless eyes and sounding quite confused.

"Hmm..." Harry mumbled through the fruit in his mouth. He swallowed before continuing, "I feel better."

Neville gave him a bright smile and threw an arm around his shoulder. "Welcome back, my friend."

The chatter began anew and Harry ate his breakfast, interjecting here and there as he listened to the conversations around him.

About halfway through their meal there was a flash of light next to Harry and Fawkes appeared on his shoulder. Harry raised his eyebrow at the bird who simply ignored him and jumped down to his plate, snagging a piece of toast. He shrugged and went back to his breakfast before noticing that the Hall had gone silent.

He looked around, eggs halfway to his mouth before asking, "What?"

"Harry..." Neville began before asking the question running through everyone's mind. "What is Fawkes doing here?"

Harry gave Neville a queer look despite the fact that he couldn't see it. "He's eating, of course."

Neville couldn't stop the snort of amusement from escaping. "No, I mean, what is he doing here with you? Not that I mind, of course," he said quickly. "But, he has been gone for quite a while..."

Cocking his head to the side, Harry took a moment before responding. "Honestly? I don't know. You saw him appear last night, well, heard... but that was the first time I've seen him in a while. He seems to have attached himself to me though." He turned back to his meal only to find half of it gone and the phoenix looking at him smugly. "You ruddy bird!" he snipped, ignoring the gasps from around him. "You ate my breakfast!"

The phoenix looked at him as if he was saying, 'So what?'.

Harry growled and grabbed what was left of his breakfast, mumbling something about overgrown, crispy chickens, ignoring the horror making its way across more than a few faces.

* * *

Several weeks passed like this. Fawkes had become Harry's shadow and the others had gotten used to his presence, as well as his food stealing ways. The Gryffindors were simply happy that the phoenix was around since it seemed to have cheered Harry up considerably.

Harry was happy for the most part, but his dreams continued to haunt him. Golden skin and red hair filled his dreams every night and had long since dominated his waking thoughts. He wanted to be able to feel the hair snake across his skin and to have his scars caressed in such a reverent way. Each morning he woke up and was reminded that it was just a dream and that no one could ever want him in that way.

Fawkes had become his confidant, since Hedwig had died the previous June, and Harry spent every morning telling him about his dreams. He would trill notes of happiness when Harry would detail the comfort and love he felt in the ghostly arms and would look particularly sad whenever Harry would cry out his loneliness and feelings of loss.

The Gryffindors started to worry as Harry began to draw into himself again. The loneliness he felt started to dominate and he spent increasing amount of time asleep. His appetite and grades both began to drop off and Neville once again took it upon himself to look after him. Fawkes himself did what he could to cheer the young man up, but his songs worked for shorter and shorter amounts of time and he would ignore the food that the bird would put on his plate.

Fawkes spent every night nestled up to Harry on his pillow, providing what comfort he could. Harry cried like he did every time, bemoaning the loss of the dream man he had grown to love.

"Oh Fawkes," Harry said, his speech slurred with sleep. "Why can't someone care for me the way he does?" Tears rolled down his face. "Even if he were real he wouldn't want me," Harry said as he ran his fingers across his scarred skin. "Why would anyone want a scarred freak like me?" He was started by the feeling of the phoenix bumping his head against his cheek, obviously chiding him for his thoughts.

Harry nodded as his eyes began to droop. "He doesn't seem to care. Maybe he wouldn't care about the scars... I wish he were real...." he whispered before slipping into his dreams.

* * *

Harry woke the next morning, refusing to open his eyes and acknowledge the fact that the red haired man did not exist. As he became more lucid he began to wonder where Fawkes was. The phoenix usually woke him up but the familiar cheery trills were missing that morning.

He shifted to turn to where the bird usually nested but froze when he felt a weight across his torso, one that felt distinctly warm. He held in his breath as the weight shifted and Harry could feel the distinct sensation of bare skin sliding against his own. Whomever was in bed with him curled up closer against him before stilling, apparently still asleep.

Harry stayed very still, taking stock of the situation. It felt like an arm was draped across his stomach and a head seemed to be resting on his shoulder. His legs appeared to be entwined with his own and he could feel the tickling sensation of hair splayed across his chest. The body was distinctly male; the flat chest and hard body pressed against his side told him that.

He had no idea who the person could be, especially since every male he knew of in Gryffindor had short hair. He gathered his courage and opened his eyes, peering down at the man the best he could. The first thing he saw was bright, fiery red hair and he sucked in his breath. He recognised that hair.

The body next to him stiffened, obviously woken up by Harry's gasp. He felt the man begin to pull away and tightened his grip around the man's torso. He turned onto his side and was confronted by golden skin and deep orange eyes flecked with red and gold.

"You're real," Harry breathed. He was mesmerised by the eyes he had never seen before. They were beautiful despite being clouded by confusion and fear.

"H'ar'ry?" a melodious voice slipped past the man's dark lips. His accent was strong but Harry couldn't place it.

"Yea, that is my name. You have been haunting my dreams... who are you?" he asked, pleading with his dream man.

The man's eyes furrowed in confusion. "F'aw'kess..." he struggled to say. "Y'ou ca'll me F'aw'kess."

Harry's eyes widened and he sat up abruptly, "Fawkes?? It's been you this whole time? Why didn't you say anything!" Harry's voice began to rise as he began to get upset and panic. "You, you knew this entire time. Didn't you? You let me be miserable and you knew!" He started to pull away from the man, bird, whatever he was.

Fawkes sat up and shook his head emphatically, "N'no" he said, trying to interrupt Harry's ranting. "N'no H'ar'ry. I di'dn't kn'ow. I di'dn't kn'ow!"

Fawkes' desperate pleas finally broke through his rant and he collapsed back against his bed. "It was you. It was you this entire time and you didn't know?" His face heated up, "Oh Merlin, and I told you all those things!" He began to get worked up again but silky, familiar arms snaked their way around him and he was pulled into a hard chest.

"H'ar'ry, I di'dn't kn'ow." Fawkes ran his fingers through Harry's hair and down his face. "I di'dn't kn'ow. I d'on't kn'ow what h'app'ened." The dulcet notes of Fawkes voice ran through Harry and he felt himself calming down. They spent several minutes like that before Harry pulled away to look at what used to be his bird.

"It's you. You're real..." he breathed out, hesitantly reaching up to touch the man's cheek. He ghosted his fingers down the soft skin which leaned into his caress. "How did this happen?"

"I ha've he'ard st'or'ies abo'ut this; fair'yt'ales t'old to o'ur kind. " Fawkes leaned towards Harry, reaching out to stroke the midnight coloured hair. "L'ove st'or'ies. Th'ey say t'hat ph'oen'ixes who de'epl'y l'ove s'ome'one and a're l'ove'd in t'urn can, ch'ange." He lifted his hand to cup Harry's cheek. "I l'ove y'ou H'ar'ry. I ha've sin'ce y'ou c'ame he're."

Harry just stared at the beautiful man. He couldn't believe that such a wonderful being would be interested in him; a deformed murderer...

"Y'ou a're b'eaut'iful, my H'ar'ry," the lyrical tones deepened and ran down Harry's spine. Fawkes ran his fingers across Harry's face, down his neck to his shoulder then down his arm. His fingers caressed the bumps and ridges that now made up Harry's skin and Harry found himself believing him.

He shivered at Fawkes' words and couldn't stop the tears that licked at his lashes. He laughed and wiped at his eyes, "What is it about you that makes me cry?"

Fawkes slid his fingers under Harry's chin and lifted his face until their eyes met. "Y'ou a're b'eaut'iful," he whispered. His lips ghosted across Harry's. "Y'ou a're g'orge'ous, i'nsi'de and o'ut, my H'ar'ry," he breathed before leaning down and pressing their lips together.

* * *

That morning the students saw Harry walk into the Great Hall hand in hand with a beautiful red haired man, smiling in a way he hadn't in 16 years. His smile lit up the room as he made the stranger laugh melodiously, infecting the entire Hall with their happiness.

Every student wanted to know who the stranger was, some were even glaring at either their happiness or the fact that Harry had gotten such a gorgeous man. The Gryffindors? They were just happy that Harry was smiling again.

**The End**

* * *

**Fourth degree burn:** These affect the outer and innermost layers of the skin in addition to the tissues underlying the skin (muscles / bone). Fourth degree burns are severe to the point that the skin is irrevocably lost.

**Fifth degree burn:** a more severe case of fourth degree burn injury in which the underlying muscle is also irretrievably lost.

**A/N: **I tried to put Fawkes in the 'character' part of the categories, but it wasn't there! So unfair! I hope y'all enjoyed this pairing as much as I do.

Harry obtained a serious version of a fourth degree burn. He did not permanently lose all of his muscle, but a good portion of it in addition to all of his skin had been burned away. Before writing this I didn't know that there were any burns beyond the third degree but I did some research about burn damage for this story. It seems that I can't refrain myself from adding some educational information to my stories.

I estimated there to be around 300 students at Hogwarts. There were roughly five to six of each gender in each year; multiply it by two to get the number of students in a single year in a single house, then by seven for the number of years and by four for the number of houses. I read up in the HP lexicon about the number of students and there are a lot of discrepancies apparently, so I just figured it out myself.

Please REVIEW! :-D


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